One Thousand and EightyEight Miles
by StarCrossdSparrow
Summary: Future Fic: Mac and Dick are getting married and they invite a reluctant Veronica back for the Neptune nuptials. Big LoVe. 3.3 spoilers. Completed!
1. Creamsicle Wishes and Linotype Dreams

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 1/7**

**XxXxXxX**

Off-Ecru-Creamsicle Wishes and Palatino Linotype Dreams

I'd managed to wedge myself deep into the tiny community of Kersey, Colorado. I'd burrowed in like a tick, but friendlier. Maybe like one of those so-ugly-they're-cute naked mole rats. Yeah, I was the naked mole rat of Kersey, CO.

Kersey was a nice place to live. It snowed in the winter and was all sunshine and seventy-eight in the summer. Denver was an hour away and so was a national park. It was the most Norman Rockwell town in the US of A. And most importantly, it was exactly 1,088 miles from Neptune, California. And there were mountains in between.

Now, don't get me wrong. There's a lot to love about California. Like, not having to shovel the aforementioned snow. And my dad still lives there. And my best friend. But, the big downside? My past also lives there.

That's what I was thinking about as I stood in my beautiful new kitchen (only eleven more interest-free months and the range, refrigerator, and hardwood floors would be mine!) in my beautiful old house (only twenty-nine more interest-intensive years and it, too, would be mine!) staring at a wedding invitation.

It was a shade of off-ecru-Creamsicle (or whatever it was that people were calling "white" these days) adorned with a bright red bow. When I'd pulled it out of it's matching whatever-white envelope, knowing full well that anything that comes hand addressed to "Ms. Veronica Mars" in that small of an envelope is some soon-to-be feared date on my calendar, the RSVP card tumbled to the floor and slid under my miniature wine cellar. Had I been the superstitious type, I would have taken it for the omen it proved to be.

"Mac, how could you do this to me?" I breathed. I was so astounded to hear my own voice spoken aloud, I startled myself. That alone should be indicative of my state of mind at that moment, staring down at the neat Palatino Linotype words that spelled marital bliss for one couple and horror for me. I actually scared myself!

The "Mac" who was currently ruining my life was now known as Cindy Mackenzie. Soon to be Mrs. Cynthia Casablancas (the freaking irony!) if the white square was to be believed. Her parents along with Dick's mom and step-dad-of-the-moment were requesting my presence at their nuptials. In two months. Which gave me a month to find a reason to back out. Or, better yet, contract some debilitating disease like leprosy. I mean, who wants a leper at their wedding?

I laid the invitation down on the carnelian black granite countertop and walked to my refrigerator. I couldn't be bothered to choose a wine and go through the process of unwrapping and uncorking it, so I grabbed a beer. I twisted the cap too hard, cutting my palm in the process, and drowned my sorrow and pain simultaneously with a pull from the longneck. I eyed the piece of paper warily as I drank, as though it were going to spontaneously combust or worse, explode into heart-shaped confetti.

I kept my eye on it as I tossed some leftover shrimp and pasta from a dinner date the previous night into the microwave and nuked it on high for forty-five seconds. I finished my beer and grabbed another.

My Friday night was effectively ruined. I had planned on making myself a thick pork chop and a baked potato drowned in butter and drinking white white while I watched everything I'd Tivoed from the past week. And, now, I was getting tanked at my kitchen island, having a staring contest with a piece of paper over a plate of day-old shrimp. And then my damn phone rang.

I rubbed the bridge of my nose and forced myself to look at my refrigerator magnets while I answered it.

"Hello?"

"Honey! I'm glad I caught you!" my dad's voice sounded so warm over the cold line. I had to smile.

"Hey, dad," I responded brightly. Even if "bright" wasn't what I was feeling, it wasn't exactly forced. "What's shakin'?"

"Apparently the defense in their shoes! I heard about the case!"

"You heard? I didn't think it was such a big deal," I answered. Of course, I was just being humble and I knew it. I smiled, knowing dad would call me on it. I wasn't disappointed.

"It's national news and you know it, kiddo," he chided gleefully. The pride skipped and danced along the line and wrapped itself around my heart. I beamed. At least there was one thing I still had control over. I threw a glare over my shoulder at the vile little scrap of paper.

"Yeah, well, all in a day's work. And, besides, I wasn't working alone on that case." That time, I wasn't being modest. It had taken a whole team of attorneys to bring down the embezzling scumbag that shafted 48,000 employees out of their 401-Ks. I just had been point on the case. I smiled again, proud. But then, ecru, Linotype, and red ribbons intruded once more and my smile fell. My dad, somehow, saw it.

"What's wrong, Veronica?"

I tried to sound light, but my question barreled out of my mouth like I spat a brick. "Did you hear about Mac and Dick getting married?"

My dad laughed, "Of course, honey. News travels fast around the old homestead. Of course, you'd have heard already, too, if you'd come home more often," he added. He always found a way to work that in. But, I held firm.

"Come on, dad," I pretended to moan back for old time's sake. The I continued, trying once more for light and not getting it, "I got an invitation today."

"Are you surprised? You and Mac were like this during college." Even though he was 1,088 miles away, I knew he'd twined his forefinger with his middle. The international symbol for "like this."

"No, it just stunned me. I mean, she never even called to tell me about the engagement. And, in fact, the last time I saw her, she was on the outs with him. I remember distinctly because I was so glad, I bought a round of Jäger Bombs for the bar."

"Yeah," he responded wryly, "I remember that, too. You woke me up singing 'I'm Too Sexy' and falling into the coffee table."

"I still _am _too sexy. And that table had it coming."

"Whatever you say, honey. You're coming home for the wedding, aren't you? Karen and I are going."

"Well..." I began. I wasn't sure. I loved Mac like the sister I never had and we'd been through a lot. But, facing Neptune was tough. It always brought something unpleasant to light. So, I stalled, "I don't know. I mean, I'm not partner yet and I really can't take time off until I get it. _If _I get it."

"Come Monday, you'll be a partner. I know it. After your little performance on that jackass, they won't let you go," dad came back. I smiled. Such faith. "So, just come. It's one day. And you know Karen, Allen, and I will be there to form a protective little entourage around you. You won't even be able to go to the bathroom alone."

"Gee, dad, sweeten the pot, why don't ya?" I sassed back.

And, then he brought out the big guns. "Allen was just asking when he'd see his big sister again. And, he asked if you hated him."

"He did not!" I shot back. Dad could play very unfair. Allen was eight and the spitting image of my dad, all twinkly eyes and mischief.

"Okay, he didn't say the second part. But, he misses you as much as the rest of us."

I nodded, though he couldn't see me. "I'll be there _if_ I get the time off."

"You will," he insisted. He paused and I heard someone say something. "Karen said to tell you hello and that she'd proud of you."

I smiled. My dad's wife was great. She babied my dad, worrying over him in a way that neither I nor my mom ever did. He needed it. And, I really liked her. "Tell her hello from me. And kisses to that baby brother of mine."

I heard dad say as much and Allen shout back. "Your brother wishes to inform you that he is not, nor has he ever been, a baby."

I laughed. "All right, dad. Well, I'll let you go. I love you."

"Love you, too, honey. Go get 'em on Monday. And call me with the good news, okay?"

"I will," I promised and we disconnected.

And I did. Three days later, I carried my glass of champagne away from my friends and coworkers and into the quiet filing closet. I dialed home to share the good news: I was partner in the firm of Bridges, Howell and Associates.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: I also don't own Jägermeister or "I'm Too Sexy" by Right Said Fred. Boo. And, just a note, I wrote this all at once, then went back to chop it up into easily digestible bites. So, I can be persuaded into updating quickly ;)  
Love it? Hate it? Review it!**


	2. Homeward Bound and a Flood of Memories

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 2/7**

**XxXxXxX**

What Makes a House a Home? and The Curse of the Talking Photographs

And that's how I found myself driving my Toyota Adonis ( leased, so it will never be mine) along Interstate 15, heading south and steadily west toward home.

Home. I had only recently begun calling the Kersey house my home. I laughed out loud and the sound was absorbed into the soft upholstery of the seats. Someone once told me that there were two kinds of people in the world: those that called the place they lived "home" and those that called "home" the place where they came from. I thought I was part of the former category, but it turns out that I did not. I sighed loudly.

I had been sad leaving my house. It looked sort of forlorn as I backed out of the driveway. Almost like it was disappointed in me. It practically shouted after me, "Why haven't you used vacation time to take care of me? The powder room still needs painted! And, the cellar needs a good cleaning if you ever expect to finish it. Come back, Veronica! I'm your best friend now!"

My neighbor had promised to collect my mail while I was gone. And my closest friend from work was babysitting my cat, Kerrigan. But, there was no one to watch my house. I almost turned around to go back to it. To beg its forgiveness. But, I was only being silly. So, I soldiered on toward Neptune.

I was taking two weeks from work. The first I intended to spend with my family (and the blaméd wedding) and the second was going to be spent either at Disneyland with Allen or at home. I hadn't decided yet. Or, rather, Allen hadn't. I had a good feeling of how he might react to my invitation though. I grinned. For the first time since I'd gotten too toasted on champagne and signed, sealed, and all but delivered the RSVP to the post-office, I was almost looking forward to seeing Neptune once more. My hometown. The homestead, as dad had called it. Home.

I smiled again as I crossed the state line. "California Welcomes You," I read aloud. "Indeed."

And it wasn't two hours before I was in Neptune again. I passed the Neptune Grand, still a shining example of opulence, overindulgence, and affluence. My least favorite -ences. All the more reason to steal from the rich and give to the poor. The more familiar parts of town soon crowded my windshield. The Balboa County Sheriff's Department. Neptune's finest. Mars Investigations. Neptune's real finest. Sunset Cliffs. Java the Hut. Vinnie's office. Cliff's office.

Finally, I made a sharp left off of Ross and onto Park. 2116 Park Lane. The address sounded too good to be true. But that was where my dad was hanging his hat these days. I parked.

I wasn't out of the car for two seconds when I heard the crash of the screen door and felt my little brother's arms around my waist. I looked down at the brown head and smiled. My dad soon joined Allen in hugging me, not even giving me a minute to say hello.

When we finally parted, I laughed. "You'd think I haven't seen you in a decade!"

"It's always too long, honey," came my dad's reply. He beamed down at me. "I'm so glad you made it safely. How was the drive?"

I shrugged. "Long. And I'm starving."

Karen chimed in. "Great. We were hoping you would be. We made your favorite."

Keith gave me another proud smile, but this time, the pride was all his own. "Actually, Karen is overstepping. _I _made the lasagna. She made the salad."

Allen piped up, "And I made the garlic bread and the iced tea."

I exclaimed over my little brother while we unloaded my car. I hadn't brought much, but unpacking after a long drive always makes me wish I'd brought less.

After dinner, dad and I sat alone in the dining room while Karen and Allen did the dishes. They'd insisted, and I was grateful for a few minutes of selfish daddy-daughter time.

"So, how's Colorado treating you?" he hedged.

I knew what he was really asking. "No, dad, I don't have a potential fiancé for you to glare at and make feel inadequate."

He had the good sense to look abashed. He was so transparent. "I'm sorry, honey. I don't want you to rush. I just worry about you being lonely in that big old house."

"I'm not lonely. I'm only twenty-nine. I'm not quite ready to let Kerrington start reproducing a herd of felines and living the life of a spinster. Though, I have recently picked up knitting."

Dad cringed and I swatted his arm and continued with a laugh, "I'll have you know, knitting is very chic in Colorado. And, anyway, I've been seeing someone pretty steadily recently." At the way my dad perked at this little bit of news, I had to press on, "But don't start ordering flower arrangements yet, okay? We're just sort of testing the waters."

I paused and he lifted his brows expectantly. When I didn't give, he demanded, "More."

I chuckled. "Really, dad. You need to take up something and get your mind off of my love life. It's sort of sad. No, make that really sad with a big dash of pathetic."

He pulled a face. "Maybe I'll take up knitting."

"What's this about knitting?" Karen asked, taking her chair at the table with a bemused smile and effectively saving me from any more awkward questions.

Later that night, I padded around the guest room. It had become my unofficial bedroom, as it was where I always slept when I came to visit. I had a few personal effects on display, things that never fit in with my new naked mole rat life in Kersey and Dad had wanted me to keep "just in case."

On the bed, there was a little stuffed yellow-green bear named Drew. It was a horrid color and made to look even worse from twenty-nine years of cuddling, washing, and travel. I felt bad leaving it behind when I moved to Colorado.

On the dresser were three framed photographs. One was a picture of my father and I on the day I graduated from Neptune High. I had a similar picture from my college graduation from Hearst and another from my graduation from Stanford Law. But, this one was special. I recognized classmates milling around in the background. I even remember Mrs. Fennell taking the photograph.

"_Smile, Keith!" Alicia ordered. _

_I looked up at my dad. He was smiling all right, but it was watered down with tears he would not shed. I squeezed him tighter and smiled brightly._

_The flash blinded me momentarily and he kissed my forehead._

"_Be careful at that party tonight," he warned with a grin._

"_Always. Careful is my middle name."_

"_Your middle name is Trouble."_

"_Right. It's a family name. I keep forgetting," I replied ruefully. "You be careful, too."_

"_Always. I can't risk not coming home to you, Veronica," he said seriously. Then, he added with a smile, "The town of Neptune would never survive without me to keep you in check."_

_I smiled and waved him away. "Go catch your bad guy, Mr. Mars."_

_He gave me a little mock salute and with a smile, disappeared into the crowd._

The other was a picture of Wallace and I in line for Splash Mountain at Disneyland. It was taken the year between our sophomore and junior years at Hearst. He was laughing and I was grinning like mad. I remembered that we'd been on the ride six times already and it showed because my hair was dripping and my tank top was stuck to me. I smiled. But, of course, I also remembered that my boyfriend at the time had been the one to take it. My smile faltered.

"_I need to capture this on film," Logan said with a half-licentious grin._

"_What?" I giggled, peeling the wet cotton from my stomach with a little smacking sound. I laughed again._

"_This," he said, encompassing me with a good-natured leer. "Come on, Wally, get in there with her so I can pretend it's in the name of friendship."_

_Wallace laughed and threw his arm around my shoulders and the camera snapped, effectively preserving us in that moment._

"However, the photographer didn't even last until I developed the film," I said mildly as I replaced the frame.

The last one was of Lilly and me. I remembered the moment as clearly as if it had just happened.

"_Veronica! You look absolutely scandalous in that! I love it! I'm already borrowing it!"_

_I glanced down at the red bikini she'd talked me into buying. It was far too flashy and far brief, even if it was flattering. My cheeks flamed hot pink. Scandalous was a good word choice. But, I didn't say so._

_Duncan stood up from his deck chair and crossed to me. He placed his hands on my bare waist and held me at an arms length from him and grinned foolishly. "She's a keeper, huh Logan?" he asked, glancing back at his best friend, who was lounging next to Lilly._

_He peered up at me from beneath his sunglasses. He gave a little nod and answered, "Right, DK. A keeper." He slid his eyes shut once more._

_I blushed harder at his appraisal. I stepped out of Duncan's hot grasp and laid down beside Lilly on a blanket next to the pool. We were whispering together about one of Logan's hot friends who had lazily drifted by on a blue raft. Apparently, Lilly had made out with him the day before. He was twenty-two!_

_Duncan called Lilly's name and we both looked up. We smiled. Mine was the smile of a girl afraid of getting caught and Lilly's was a smile that told the world that she hoped for nothing better than a good scandal. _

_Duncan snapped the picture and froze us like that forever._

I smiled wistfully as I replaced the photograph. They were great pictures. And, at my house in Kersey... no, my _home _in Kersey, I would probably glance at them and smile. But here in Neptune, memories flooded me every time I looked at something. Anything. Even that damnable hotel.

"_When are you going to take me at my word, Veronica? Ever? Or is that just too much to ask?" Logan asked as he packed clothes into a suitcase._

_The bedroom was a mess. He was moving into a normal apartment before classes started again the following week. And for someone so seemingly unattached to an address or personal belongings, he was certainly making a big deal over packing up his meager life at the Grand._

"_You don't listen to me when I talk, do you?" I fired back from my place at the closet. I was gesturing wildly with a wooden hanger. "All I did was ask you about your trip to San Francisco. Most people would just take that as a friendly inquiry, not the third degree."_

"_Nothing with you is ever simple. Everything is an accusation. You can't even ask me for the remote with out thinking that I might turn the Playboy channel on."_

_I rolled my eyes and threw the hanger on the floor where it clattered against its mates. I turned back to the closet and spotted something shiny on the floor in the corner. I picked it up. _

_Red satin panties. Red satin panties that were not mine. Red satin panties that were not mine in my boyfriend's closet. I whirled on him_

"_What is this?" I demanded, holding them aloft. The dripped from my fingers like blood._

_Logan looked up and for a split-second, looked completely dumbfounded. Then he answered, "It appears to be a thong. But, that is a contested term. It looks more like a g-string to me."_

"_And who might they belong to?" I asked, crossing the room so that I stood not a foot from him. _

_He continued folding clothes with an exaggerated eye roll. "I don't know. Maybe they wrote it on the tag?"_

_I threw them at him and he dropped the sweater he'd been folding to face me. I looked at them rather than at him. They looked gruesome, half-clinging to the sand comforter._

"_Honestly, Veronica. They don't belong to anyone I know. The only girl that has ever been in this room with me is you. And, if they're not yours, I don't know who they belong to."_

_I let him make his little speech while I stood and trembled with an unhealthy mixture of rage, embarrassment, betrayal, and horror. Logan was a lot of things to me, but I never believed he'd actually cheat. Not after what he'd been through with Lilly. But I was proven wrong._

_I held back my tears and said as calmly and as coldly as I could manage, "Don't ever try to talk to me again. Ever." _

I turned on my heel and walked out the door and I hadn't seen him since.

I climbed into the twin bed, noticing its marked difference from my enormous four-poster back in Kersey. I wriggled into the mattress, almost not wanting to get comfortable. I felt like it would be giving in. But, the fluffy comforter and the pillows piled high were too much for me and I succumbed to sleep immediately.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: I also don't own Toyota, even though I made up that particular make :)**

**  
**To my anonymous reviewer**, sara:** Thanks a million! I hope you liked this chapter, too! And to the rest of you out there, keep spoon feeding me those reviews, and I'll keep posting quickly. I think this is an apt time to insert diabolical laughter ;)

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	3. Deductive Reasoning and a Lesson in Love

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 3/7  
A/N 1: I'm lovin' the reviews! So, as your reward, I'm posting another chapter. I am too easy, I think.**

**XxXxXxX**

Deductive Reasoning and a Lesson in Love

I passed the next four days like a near-recluse. I didn't go out, choosing to stay at home with Karen while dad worked. And, of course, when he and Allen were home, we played card games, talked, laughed, and discussed the upcoming trip to Disneyland.

I had forgotten about Allen having school. It's funny how one forgets those things when one neither has to attend school nor has one any little tykes that necessitate such remembering. So, we decided to wait for Christmas break.

It made me happy because being in Neptune and dealing with the memory-at-every turn thing was taking its toll and I hadn't even had to face the wedding yet. My house... my _home_ in Kersey was looking like a cold beer at the end of a very tough day in court. The decision made Dad and Karen happy because it meant that I'd be coming home... er, _for a visit_ close to Christmas. And, of course, it made Allen very happy.

On the Friday before the wedding, my dad and I were left alone again. Karen had taken Allen to her brother's house for a sleepover with his cousins. And, of course, said brother would be babysitting while we went to the wedding, even though I had so graciously offered to stay home with him while they went.

We sat on the back deck. ("Built it myself", dad had claimed. Karen told me that they hired someone to repair what my dad built.) We each had a beer and we listened to the radio through the kitchen window.

"So, are you ready for tomorrow?" he asked, taking a small sip without glancing in my direction.

"Dad, you taught me everything you know and yet, you still insist on beginning sentences with 'so.' Just say what you want to say."

"Sometimes I just mean 'so,'" he grumbled. "Fine. You know who Dick's best man is?"

"I don't. But I can guess."

"I've taught you well then, Veronica-san."

I nodded and took a pull from the longneck, waiting for him to continue.

"Are you ready for it?"

"For what, dad? Is there a cage match set up that I'm unaware of?" I laughed to cut the tension. I failed, but pressed on admirably, "It's been almost ten years. We're adults. We probably won't even see one another if this wedding is as big as you and Karen have made it out to be."

Dad shrugged, and finished his beer. "Whatever you say, honey. But, if it gets too intense, tag me in."

0o0o0o0

The wedding wasn't until four. I considered not going to the ceremony and just going to reception. Or vice versa. But, I always feel like I'm copping out when I do that. It's only polite to go to both. The reception is just a reward for sitting through the ceremony and the ceremony is sort of incentive to get drunk for free later. So, I split the difference and decided to attend both with dad and Karen.

I wore a simple black halter dress that hit at my knees and black heels. I left my hair fall into natural waves and wore no jewelry. It was and elegant ensemble (read: _plain_) and I hoped it would let me blend into the scenery.

The September day was warm, so I carried a short black jacket with me to cover my arms in church. That was another thing. I always felt like a first-class sinner if I bared my shoulders in God's house. Of course, with the crowd I observed pouring into the church, I felt safe that whoever He or She was would overlook my minor slip-ups in favor of some of the doozies sitting so piously beneath His or Her roof.

I walked behind my dad and Karen, feeling very third-wheel. I tried to keep my head down and look like some unassuming eighth cousin. Unfortunately, the act only lasted as long as I stayed behind them. And they wandered away to talk to one Don Lamb in the receiving area before they sat. And, no matter what my father might say about the man and their working relationship, I never forgot the cold bastard who didn't believe me when I needed his help. So I went it alone.

I was about to cross the threshold into the nave when a voice came from above me and to my left. "Bride or groom?"

I glanced up. Mistake number one, Mars. Logan Echolls stood before me, looking that familiar mixture of bored and superior. But his eyes sparked when he saw me. Or, at least, I thought they did, because a split-second later, they flattened again. "Bride then," he answered himself. He paused and looked over my shoulder before offering his arm.

I hesitated before taking it. When I did, I couldn't control the way my heart leapt into my throat. I hated myself for it. I didn't want to speak for fear that my voice would come out all wiggly. But I divined that to hold mum would have been an admission of emotion. I would see his cold and raise him an indifferent.

"Nice to see you, Logan," I said. It wasn't anywhere near the truth, but "If it isn't the bastard who broke my heart back in college," just didn't have a convivial ring to it.

He nodded sharply, steering me confidently through the pews . I hated him for _that_. That arrogant disregard for the past, for history, for niceties, for everything and everyone. For me. "You look well."

_I look _wellI raged silently. _Fucking _wellI mentally screamed, envisioning my palms on his tuxedoed chest, shoving him backwards with all the strength I had. "You as well."

He stopped about halfway back from the altar at an empty pew. "Enjoy the show," he added, with a Logan eyebrow quirk, patent number LE90909, 1988. I almost grinned. But I settled for the bland smile that I'd been forcing since I rode into town.

I slid into the pew and studied the program, only half-taking in the various attendants and groomsmen, most of whom I didn't recognize. There was a list of prayers and hymns (who sings hymns at a wedding!? Just say "I do" and bring on the champagne!), none of which I recognized.

Instead, I was absorbed in actual program. The stock was fine and transparent, like the fragile pages in a Bible. Each individual page (there were seven, not counting the front and back covers!) was mounted on a thicker bit of paper, finely worked with red ink scrolls. And the whole thing as bound with red ribbon. I was most focused on the two crimson hearts overlapping on the cover. They were almost garish against the white (_off-ecru-Creamiscle_) paper. Recently inked, the red was smeared around the hearts just a little bit. I touched it. My finger came back clean.

I jumped when my father spoke close to my ear, "What's an eight letter word for wasting money?"

"Weddings," I replied with a smile.

"The correct answer was 'squander', but in this case," dad waggled the program before continuing, "The judges accept."

I bowed my head to hide my laughter as the music quieted and the priest in full ecclesiastic splendor entered and sat down while Pachelbel's "Canon in D major" (_silent groan and invisible eye roll_) trickled out of the three-piece orchestra (Is it still considered an orchestra? I wondered) seated in the transept.

In perfectly plotted intervals, eight bridesmaids and their height-matched groomsmen wafted down in the aisle in black, white, and red (_Ha! _I thought of that stupid old joke about the newspaper... and then, the frog in a blender. Classic.).

Last in line came Logan, escorting a curvy blonde whom I instantly recognized as Madison Sinclair. I almost spit. I fumbled for the over-long program, but was interrupted when the mini-orchestra struck up the "Wedding March." I stood, feeling slightly fluttery for Mac. At least, I attributed it to Mac.

I turned toward the back of the church and there, though the balding aunts and paunchy uncles behind me I saw her. She was resplendent in the white gown. It was cut modestly in the front and a fell in a silky sheath to the floor. Her veil was short, coming only to her chin. As she passed, I could see that she either only had eyes for the blonde man at the front or she was concentrating on not tripping. My heart did a sick little skip as I realized it was probably the former. The back of the gown dipped low, making up for the lack of décolletage and I silently applauded her daring choice. Especially considering my own weird fear of God's all-seeing, all-disapproving eye.

And so, the ceremony began. It was a blur of sitting, standing, kneeling, praying, and responding in unison. I was surprised at how much of the act I remembered. I even forgot to be silently cynical for awhile. Well, at least, until the readings began.

Most were the usual parade of "Love is patient, love is kind..." and "let husband love his wife as himself, and let the wife see that she respect her husband." And then Logan stepped to the lectern. I think half of the church stared and waited with baited breath to hear what he would say. The rest closed their eyes. I just sat back, waiting for the "show."

He smiled. It looked sincere and proud. He cleared his throat. It sounded slightly nervous. Then he nodded. It was Logan and none of those other things.

"Dick told me to pick something to read, and I've already cleared this with him and his beautiful bride, so you can all stop worrying," he began. It elicited a titter from most, but those of us who knew him still waited with baited breath.

And this is what he said:

"'I don't love you as if you were the salt-rose, topaz  
or arrow of carnations that propagate fire:  
I love you as certain dark things are loved,  
secretly, between the shadow and the soul.  
I love you as the plant that doesn't bloom and carries  
hidden within itself the light of those flowers,  
and thanks to your love, darkly in my body  
lives the dense fragrance that rises from the earth.  
I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where,  
I love you simply, without problems or pride:  
I love you in this way because I don't know any other way of loving  
but this, in which there is no I or you,  
so intimate that your hand upon my chest is my hand,  
so intimate that when I fall asleep it is your eyes that close.'

He smiled, half-lidded, and paused. I knew it wasn't suppressed emotion, but more of a look of having gotten away with subtly talking about sex in church. But, everyone else was fooled. "Sonnet Seventeen, Pablo Neruda," he finished.

He nodded to Mac and Dick at the altar and took his place at his best friend's side. The priest began his real sermon, once more bringing up "love is patient, love is kind" yadda yadda yadda. My mind eagerly grabbed its cynical voice, dusted it off and went into attack mode.

_Love is neither patient, nor is it kind. It envies! It boasts! It is proud! It is rude and self-seeking and, boy, is it ever easily angered. And, a record of wrongs? HA! It has notches in the walls, on the bed post, and on my heart. It hides the truth and instigates evil. It protects until you feel smothered, it is jealous, it worries, and it never lasts._

_It is dark. Lonely. Hungry. Needy. Desperate. _

_It is blood shed, lives ruined, continents spanned. It is epic._

I trembled as the couple exchanged "I do's." My dad laid his arm on mine, smiling. He usually knew me so well, but today, his mistook my chills for those of the romantic sort. I smiled blearily at him, desperately wanting a glass of pinot and my sofa and my television and my cat. I did not want to face this damn reception.

But, I would soldier on. Straight to the open bar.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: I also don't own Pachelbel's "Canon in D major," the "Wedding March," I Corinthians 13:4-8, Ephesians 5: 25-33, or Pablo Neruda's "Sonnet XVII."**

To my anonymous reviewers: **Sandra**: Thanks much... LoVe is on the way. Squee!!  
**Kattee**: I don't know if wicked is as wicked as in "Wicked Witch of the West" or wicked as in the Boston use, meaning awesome. Either way, I thank you ;)  
**Kate**: Thanks... it is seven chapters long. 30 pages in OpenOffice.  
**Heidi**: Your wish. My shift + command. (TeeHee)  
**nikola**: I'm glad you like!  
**Dada**: Like a good dealer, I shall feed your addiction!

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	4. Gossipmongering and the Like

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 4/7**

**XxXxXxX**

We Talked of Gossip-mongering and Duels

The recessional came quickly after the rings and the kissing and the announcing "for the first time anywhere" and I was able to page through my program. Maid of honor: Madison Kelly. My rusty old PI's eye spotted that one of the groomsmen was named Marcus Kelly. Probably not a coincidence. But then, nothing ever was.

I stood and took my place in the receiving line, dreading the face time with Madison... and Logan. But, I wanted to hug Mac and tell her how beautiful she looked and how happy I was for her. And really mean it.

The line moved slowly and I tuned into the conversation behind me. It was like my old sleuthing radar magically appeared when I crossed the state line. Back in Kersey... at _home_... I never listened to other people's conversations unless they happened to be the defense's. But, when in Rome and all that jazz.

"I can't believe she had those girls in her wedding, let alone had that one as her maid of honor," came a terrible stage whisper from behind me. Keep it up lady, I don't think they heard you in Timbuktu.

"I know," came the perfunctory Gossip Number Two reply. "But, it doesn't matter who she used to be, in this town, it's all about the joint checking account."

Amen, sister. I downgraded her from Gossip to Unfortunate Friend of a Gossip.

"But, really," came the first voice. I instinctively saw her as a tall, plasticized, Stair-Master queen with three-inch nails and six-inch stilettos. "Claiming to be a Sinclair in public like that? Tasteless."

The other voice didn't respond right away, "Well, whatever it is, we've got to be all sunshine and smiles in a week when she comes to the club," she sounded wry to me, but I don't think Trophy Wife got it.

"Don't I know it," came her put upon reply. I grinned.

"And that disturbed Echolls boy! I was so worried when he was about to read. I mean, you never can tell with famous types," came the Gold Digger. I gritted my teeth.

"Well, he hasn't been around in a while. I heard he was in rehab somewhere back East. His poem was nice, though."

The first voice fell silent. I wanted to shake the second's hand for putting her in her place. But rehab? I was intrigued.

It was my turn to meet and greet next. I smiled and said my hellos and hi-how-are-yous to two sets of people that I took to be assorted parents.

"Ronnie!" Dick said brightly, a genuine smile spread across his face. I smiled back. No use in holding people responsible for terrible things that happened back in high school, right?

"Congrats, Dick. You couldn't have picked a better girl," I said, looking at Mac.

He bent and pulled me into a hug. "I'm glad you came. Cin was afraid you wouldn't show," he whispered into my ear. I nodded and squeezed back.

I bit back tears as I embraced his bride. "You look gorgeous, Mac."

She laughed and held me at arms length while passing her eyes over me quickly, "Well, I don't see any prison tattoos or an ankle bracelet. So, I'll rule out jail as to why you haven't called." She said it with a smile, so I just pretended to be embarrassed and grinned back.

"Colorado isn't exactly Jupiter to you, either," I chided, hugging her once again. The line was encroaching and I winked at her as I made to move on.

"We'll do a shot later, okay?" she said, looking pointedly at the Trophy Wife behind me. I smiled and moved on.

Madison was the next obstacle. She smiled, not an ounce of false in it, either. Right. I smiled back, albeit warily. "Madison. I'm surprised to see you. You look great."

"You, too," she answered. The lines around her mouth shook a little, telling me that everything wasn't water under the bridge for us. Somehow, it reassured me. I skipped the hug and moved to Logan.

"No need for banter, Veronica. I'll just tell you my license plate number so you can slash my tires later," he remarked, keeping his hands noticeably behind his back.

_Epic._

That damn four letter word swished through my fogged brain. I was trying to process too many things at once. I smiled weakly and answered, "And I forgot my knife. Darn."

He raised his eyebrows, "That's it? No razor sharp zinger? Where's that rapier wit, Mars? Tell me you're not saving it for a book."

"No. I'm a lawyer. I get paid to use my rapier wit now."

He nodded with a smirk. "Well, fill me in on your hourly rate and later we'll have ourselves a little duel."

I opened and closed my mouth, stupidly. I felt my cheeks flame at the double entendre. That seemed to be his goal and he grinned again before turning his attention to Gossip Girl. The line pressed forward and I followed it.

Outside, I rejoined my father.

"It was a beautiful ceremony, didn't you think, Veronica?" Karen asked as we walked to their car.

I nodded. "Beautiful. Sure."

My dad patted his stomach with a chuckle, "Yeah, and all that talk about sharing lives and supporting one another makes me hungry. "

"How do those things even connect?" came Karen's next question.

"Well, married people eat, right?"

She laughed and they bantered back and forth on the way to the reception. I was glad to watch Neptune pass by from the relative solitude of the back seat. The sky was just turning gold as the sun gave its last ditch effort to impress before its sister moon took over the show. There were a few misty clouds drifting around and I knew the evening was going to be perfect for the rest of the wedding. Even if it was looking less than wonderful to me.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: **To my anonymous reviewers: **Rita**: Thanks a mill... but remember, those are RT's words, not mine... I just spread 'em around.  
**copticcat**: Thanks a bunch!  
**MackeyPac**: All shall be revealed...

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	5. Happy Couples and Open Bars

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 5/7**

**XxXxXxX**

Let's Hear it for the Happy Couple and the Open Bar!

The reception was at a chic restaurant on the marina called Salacia. The Casablancas wedding was to be held on a large deck that overlooked the water on the south side and the marina on the north. It was partially enclosed, but the dance floor and four piece band were set up outside.

We arrived about twenty minutes after leaving the church and there already about two hundred guests seated or milling around in tight little circles, while the catering staff carried trays laden with bouchee, quesadillas, crostini, and crab cakes as well as flutes of champagne.

I snagged a glass as a host showed us to our table. I was glad to see that each table only held four people, though some had been pushed together to accommodate eight. No one else would be joining our little party, which meant I wouldn't have to make small talk with strangers. But, it also meant that I'd be alone if Karen and my dad decided to dance or otherwise consort without me. I sighed as I allowed the host pulled out my chair. I smiled at him as I slid into it. He was cute. Maybe, if times got to tough... I shook off the notion and looked away.

My place card read _Veronica Mars and Guest. _I laughed. Even though I'd RSVPed for myself alone, Mac had obviously held out hope that I'd bring a date. It seemed that people in love often want to drag everyone around them into their damnably small boat. But they never seem to remember that as boats get crowded, they sink. I laughed again, a little sadly, turning the card face down on the red linen table cloth.

The room filled quickly and as was my old custom, I scanned the faces looking for people I knew. I saw far fewer than I'd expected. Most of them seemed to be family or family of family. The rest, I was sure, were just friends of the Casablancas name that had to be invited, if only to stall gossip that the last Casablancas man around was marrying down.

I shook my head. The décor was cranked to level that practically screamed wealth at a hundred decibels, even if it was tasteful. Everything was done in black, white, and red (HA! once more. That one never got old.). There was a black and white tile floor laid on the deck, designating the dance floor. And everything else was red roses. Roses were packed tightly into short, square vases on each table, flanked by chrome and glass candle lamps. There was a whole wall of roses behind the bridal table. Roses were even tucked artfully into the eight tier wedding cake. It was very Art Deco, very Jazz Era. Very Mac. I grinned, grateful that the whole thing wasn't going to be smeary, twinned hearts.

Soon, even the screaming wealth was drowned out by the dull roar of the Neptune elite's polite chatter. There were easily four hundred people in the room. I barely heard my father asking if I was all right.

I nodded, "It's only for a few more hours, right?"

He smiled at me. I'm not sure if he heard, but he understood enough to just leave it at that. "I'm glad you came," he added with a smile. "Every society wedding in Neptune needs a few representatives from the Mars contingent to class it up."

"I put the elusive in exclusive," I answered with a grin.

Karen laughed, holding up some unrecognizable hors d'oeuvre , "Well, I put the Ritz in ritzy. I was actually thinking that I'd be more at home in the kitchen, abroilin' and abastin' with the rest of the proletariat."

My dad patted her hand and, with a wink, said, "Now, honey, you know this crowd isn't quite ready for Karen's Famous Ritz Ladybugs."

"Yeah," I chimed in, "Too cutting edge. Too vogue. Too... what's the word?" I asked, looking at my dad.

"Beetle-shaped," he provided.

Karen and I both laughed, and another waiter swung past with a tray of champagne. I replaced my empty flute and took one more. Dad arched an eyebrow at me.

"Don't judge," I defended. "Free champagne, especially one so fine, is something that doesn't flow through the Colorado streets like it does in Neptune."

He raised his hands as a show of surrender and was about to respond when the crowd fell quiet and the band leader stepped forward with a microphone. I didn't recognize the tune that the pianist had started, but I'm almost positive it was Billy Idol's "White Wedding." I suppressed a giggle as the man announced the parents of the bride (not a Sinclair in sight, I noted) and Dick's mom and step-father. I assumed his dad was still alive, but had never made the trip back to Neptune, not even after his youngest had plummeted to his death from forty-eight stories. Oh well.

Next came the attendants. One was Lauren Sinclair, Madison's little sister. Brunette. Apple cheeks. Big smile. Definitely related to Mac. She must have been the other girl the woman behind me in the receiving line had been sniping about. Ryan Mackenzie, of course, was Mac's little brother. I didn't recognize anyone else, other that Madison and Logan. Then we all stood as the happy couple was announced, once more, "for the first time anywhere."

As soon as the bridal party was seated, the buzz of continued conversation went up in the room, intermittent with those annoying clinks from people who thought it was still cute to tap the side of their glass and watch bride-on-groom PDA like a room full of unabashed voyeurs.

Once the first course was laid before us, the priest gave an agonizingly long prayer, again bringing up the topics of love, beauty, and allowing love to lift one another up. I think he must have studied old Joe Cocker CDs rather than the Bible for this wedding. And then Madison stood and held her glass of champagne aloft.

"If you'll join me, I'd like to propose a toast to Mac and Dick," she looked at them with a broad smile. "We all know we have a shared history full of potholes and pitfalls. But, Mac, I'm glad we've become friends and that I've grown as close to your family as you have to mine. You've been like a sister to me and I'm glad you've finally wised up and married that man next to you. And, Dick, you'd better be damn good to her. Or else." She lifted an eyebrow dramatically and the crowd laughed. I smiled. At least her speech sounded genuine. Everyone clinked glasses, the happy couple kissed, and we drank.

Madison sat and Logan stood. Again, a hush fell over he room. Without the trappings of the church and the sanctity of the cloth, everyone was more than worried over what "that disturbed Echolls boy" might say.

He smiled, wryly. "Well, at least I can still command a room," he began wryly. There was a general titter followed by more oppressive silence. He shook his head and laughed lightly. "I'd like to propose another toast to my best friend and to his wonderful bride. Dick and Mac, you've already been through more than most couples ever fear having to face, and still you came through it together. And, as the old saying must hold true, what doesn't kill one only makes one stronger. So, here's to your continued strength and to you're long lives as one." He raised his flute and once more, everyone clinked glasses, the happy couple kissed, and we drank. He sat and everyone, feeling relieved, dug into their suppers.

Each dish was announced by a pompous little fellow in a white tuxedo who seemed to enjoy his role more than anyone ever should. Karen, dad, and I had a good time poking fun at the man's little speeches. Karen and I were giggling so hard at my dad's imitation of him, that we earned long looks from guests at nearby tables. Which, of course, only made us laugh harder.

We made it through the four course meal unscathed and pleasantly filled. And soon, it was time for that dead half-hour filled with couples dancing. First the bride and groom, now the rest of the bridal party. Dip her low, twist her 'round, do-si-do. It's time to dance with your parents now. Yee-haw. All together now, everyone join in!

I shooed dad and Karen toward the floor and went in search of something stronger than champagne at the bar. It was mostly populated by guys who had already loosened their ties and were checking their college football scores on cellular phones and comparing their Masters of the Universe Club IDs over their scotches-on-the-rocks.

I wriggled easily through the crush and ordered a dirty martini. Extra dirty _and_ extra martini too boot.

"Shaken, not stirred?" came a wry voice from beside me. I looked to my right and there sat a handsome young gentleman, a glass of something brown sans ice in front of him. His tie was still in place and he had yet to pull out his wallet or cell, so I assumed he had only just arrived at the bar.

I slanted a half-smile at him. It was nice that he was on my eye level because I found that altitude usually affected the listener's comprehension when I brought my A-game. "Just swirled around, lazily. And, actually, he preferred his martini dry. _I _like 'em dirty."

He arched an eyebrow and considered me a moment before offering his hand. "Well, in that case, my name is Nick Castle. Garbage collector, mudslinger, and pig wrassler."

"So, you're a politician," I guessed, shaking his hand.

"Close. Entertainment lawyer. Which, in itself, is dirty."

I returned his arched brow with one of my own. "Veronica Mars. Criminal law."

He faked a shiver, "Even dirtier."

When I laughed, he pressed on. "Mars, huh? I think I've heard of you."

"Oh no. That is never a good thing."

"Well, you did help nail Stanley Brandt's actual ass to the proverbial wall, right? I mean, it was all over CNN last week. The best one of my cases has ever done was a blurb in _Entertainment Weekly_."

I looked down, feigning embarrassment. "Oh, yeah. Well, I don't have a pen, so please don't ask for my autograph."

He backed off with a fake frown, "Was I that obvious? Well, you'd think I'd know better. So, are you a friend of Cindy's or Dick's?"

"Cindy," I answered, the name strange on my lips. "We went to high school together."

His eyes widened momentarily. "You're _that _Veronica?"

I laughed at his incredulity. "Guilty."

"Never a good thing to tell a lawyer, but you know that," he gave me another cursory glance.

"Afraid of me?" I half-teased.

"No, intrigued. I'm Dick's lawyer and the stories I've heard," he blew a breath out and then laughed. "Boy."

"Well, I won't hold it against you if you choose to flee for your life."

He lifted his chin proudly. "You've just met me and already, you're saying we have no future. You wound me, Miss Mars. It is 'miss' isn't it?"

I smiled, allowing him to be charming rather than smarmy because I felt like it. "It is."

We chatted for a few minutes more when his phone buzzed from his jacket pocket. He glanced at it. "I've got to take this. But, don't run off. I have to sign your dance card before it gets filled, all right?"

His smile was so beguiling, and even though I knew better than to let some cute young lawyer flirt with me, I didn't want to crawl home to daddy's tonight. I smiled back and answered, "Maybe I'll save you a spot."

"You do that," came his riposte and he slid off his stool toward the quiet hallway. Before rounding the corner, he shot me another glance and a grin, just to make sure I'd watched him go.

I turned back to the bar, swishing my half-full martini in it's glass. I felt the buzz of the liquor and the successful flirtation simultaneously, and I knew I was grinning like an idiot into the murky drink.

"Can you see the future in there?"

I was startled out of my reverie and turned so fast, I almost upset my drink. To my left, Logan leaned against the wall, staring down at me, his arms folded over his chest.

"Yes, it's quite lovely. It involves me, a yacht, and, oh look, is that Johnny Depp?"

He rolled his eyes and signaled the bartender, "Two more of whatever she's having." As the bartender mixed the drink, Logan nodded down to the empty stool between us. "May I?"

"If you must," I answered, not bothering to disguise my distaste.

The barman set the glasses in front of Logan and he, in turn, slid one my way.

"You're one prince of guy, Logan, buying a drink for a girl from a free bar. And, I see you're making a hell of a recovery."

He cocked an eyebrow. "From what, pray tell? I assume you've diagnosed me with some mystery disease to rid your memory of all this," he gestured to himself. "I mean, I would have."

"I heard you were in rehab," I spat back. I know I was being rude, but I didn't care. I finished the first martini and replaced the empty glass with the second.

He paused a moment, considering. Then he burst into laughter. "That's one I haven't heard, but I suppose, it makes the most sense."

I sent him a withering glare, "Not in rehab then? Well, congratulations on making it to thirty without an addiction. Have another drink on me."

I stood, lifting my own drink to him, and walked away.

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: I also don't own Ritz, Billy Idol's "White Wedding," Joe Cocker's "Love Lifts Us Up Where We Belong," James Bond, CNN, or _Entertainment Weekly_.  
**To my anonymous reviewers: **nikola**: TeeHee. I was a little worried about that scene because Keith doesn't seem to be a big drinker (Lianne fuzziness?). But, I think he can still chill with V and enjoy a tasty beverage every now and then.  
**milly**: Patience is a virtue, darling. :wink:  
**Jessica**: Hmmm... well, perhaps I'll address the second question in another story. But, Allen is only a bit player here.  
**sara**: Thanks ;)  
**candymuncher**: HaHa... they have a lovely and warm history of property damage between them.  
**Rookie:** I tried for rapier... hope I got it ;)  
**rainey: **It's never too late! Thanks!

**Love it? Hate it? Review it!**


	6. Toasting, Dancing, and New Friends

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 6/7**

**XxXxXxX**

Weddings are for Toasting, Dancing, and Making New Friends

I wasn't alone long. Once I arrived back at the table, Mac spotted me and broke from her new husband's side and pushed through a crowd of well-wishers with a smile pasted on her face. She arrived at my table and through a smile and gritted teeth, hissed, "Shot. Now."

I stood and we walked back to the bar and I was glad to see that Logan had gone.

"Everything okay in Wedding Land?" I asked.

She laughed, tiredly. "Yes and no. I love Dick, so that helps. But, all these people who I don't know keep talking to me as though they'd known and loved me all along. Of course, they're the same people that I know can't wait to dissect my performance today as soon as they get into their various Lexuses. Or is it Lexi?"

"I think it's the former," I answered. "And, I know what you mean. The pretension in that room is so thick, I almost bit into some as a side to my duck ala orange."

"You're my port in this storm, Veronica. And I mean it when I say thanks for coming."

I ordered us each an Irish car bomb and we even got a few cheers as we downed the concoction in a few gulps. After our second, I found myself giggling conspiratorially with Mac about the woman I had been referring to as Trophy Wife.

"She left the trailer park to marry that geezer last December. He kicked it in May. But, I think she got what she deserved, having to sleep with him all those long, cold months," Mac told me through little bursts of laughter.

"Mac, we live in California. Cold isn't in our vocabulary." The alcohol swimming around in my brain temporarily edited out my _home _in Colorado.

"In my mind, it is," she giggled. I looked up and noticed Dick and my cute lawyer walking toward us.

"Already getting my wife drunk, huh, Mars? Trying to talk her out of this whole thing?" he asked, good-naturedly, as he pulled her close. He smiled down at her and she beamed up at him.

"I think it's too late for that, but I am trying to get her to have an affair with me," I answered with as straight a face as I could hold.

Nick Castle's eager face was what caused me to start giggling. Mac followed suit and Dick shook his head.

"Man, Mars, you really know how to hurt a guy," Dick said, feigning sorrow. "But, we must get back to our guests for now. You two don't do anything _I _wouldn't do, okay?"

"What does that include, Casablancas? Should I take notes?" Nick asked, seriously.

"I have the scoop from Mac, so I can fill in the blanks," I said with a wink at Dick. He pulled a face at me and escorted his wife back to the milling crowd.

"So, are you up for that dance or should we just skip to number one on Dick's List of Things Not To Do in the Dark?" he asked, hopefully.

"Confident, aren't we?" I noted, putting my arm in his. "Well, we'll see how well you do on the dance floor fist before we start tangoing horizontally." I was being abnormally flirtatious, but I didn't care. I felt anonymous in this room full of people I didn't know. I felt free. And, as for the ones I did know, well, let them look.

He spun me easily around the dance floor for a few songs. We chatted about cases past, our colleges, old professors, old bosses, everything except the old Veronica. My dad actually interrupted by cutting in very gallantly. He spun me around gaily to a quick version of "Fly Me to the Moon" and at the end, he walked me back to Nick.

"Will you be able to get home okay? Karen and I are getting old and all this champagne and romance is wearing us out."

I smiled and glanced at Nick. "I think I can get a ride. If not, I'll just sell myself to a lonely old gentleman and spend the night at the Camelot."

He made a face and replied, "Well, if you're selling yourself to anyone here, make damn sure he takes you to the Grand."

"Oh, dad, you're such a romantic," I teased.

"I want nothing but the best for my baby girl," he teased back, kissing my forehead. He spotted Karen talking to another man by the door. "Uh-oh. Better go and blind her with the moonlight bouncing off of my head before she notices that I'm the less handsome."

"No way, dad. You're way better looking. And, she only has eyes for you, as it is. I'll see you at home, okay?"

"Okay, honey. Be careful."

"Careful is my middle name," I responded.

He waggled his eyebrows comically and went to collect his wife.

I turned to find Nick, but he wasn't were I'd seen him last. I turned a circle on the edge of perimeter and found myself face to face with Logan once more.

"Oh, look, my own personal stalker," I sniped. I hadn't had a drink for about forty-five minutes and a headache was beginning to bloom.

"Dance with me?" he asked. It was so quiet, that I hesitated, thinking I'd heard him wrong. When I didn't turn away or refuse, he caught my right hand in his left and drew me close, wrapping his right hand around my waist. He stepped backwards into the dancers as a moody version of "Songbird"came from the piano.

I looked at his shoulder, rather than into his eyes as we swayed around the dance floor. It had gotten more crowded and he held me closer than Nick had. My breath caught and I had a hard time remembering the way my lungs were supposed to work for a moment. About halfway through the song, I dared to look up at him. He was watching me.

"So," I started, pseudo-casually. I had to clear my throat because it was suddenly thick and scratchy. I really felt too sober at once. "What _have_ you been up to?"

"You mean since I haven't been a recovering alcoholic or coke addict?"

I looked away. But he continued. "I work in Virginia with the FBI."

I laughed. "You? You're kidding!"

He looked amused, but I knew he wasn't teasing me from the way he shrugged.

"Doing what?" I pushed.

"I'm a psychologist. I study bio-social aspects of behavior. Basically, I work in a think tank that helps the profilers get their guy."

"Are you a special agent? Are you going to have to kill me now that I know your secret?"

He grinned, "Maybe."

I looked away from his smile, barely registering that we were now dancing to another song.

"Actually, I'm the low guy on the pole," he said with a shrug. "But, I do have a badge that says Supervisory Special Agent Echolls if that tickles you in any way."

"Oh, I'm in a full swoon," I replied dryly, looking back up at him. I smiled.

"So, how about you?" I felt him pull me a little closer as we navigated through the middle of the floor. I almost forgot his question.

"Lawyer. In Colorado."

"Yes, I knew that," he answered. "FBI, remember? Sometimes I have down time," he said by way of explanation. "I meant otherwise."

"You used your FBI resources to find out what I was doing?" I asked, feeling slightly flattered. And completely betrayed by my own brain.

"No, I watch CNN. Why, would that get you all excited? 'Cause if the badge doesn't work, I can show you some illicit files."

"Are you trying to get me excited, Logan?" I asked. I couldn't help the grin that snuck by my carefully erected walls.

"It depends. If you want me to, then I am. If you don't, then I'm just an old friend, catching up."

I snorted. "And if I tell you that I want you to, then what?" I was calling him out, and I was only a little afraid of his answer.

He ginned down at me almost possessively. "Then we blow this Popsicle stand and adjourn to my suite at the Grand."

At the mention of that hotel, in conjunction with his physical proximity, my elevated heart rate, and that smile, something inside of me broke. I dropped his hands and backed up out of his grasp, crashing into an older couple. They glared at me, but I ignored them. "I just... I..." I choked out before turning and pushing through the crowds.

I found myself in the hallway beyond the bar and pushed into the ladies room. It was blissfully quiet and I sank shakily on the edge of tufted vanity bench. I did not cry, but I was breathing too hard. Perhaps my malfunctioning lungs had finally caught up to me. Logan Echolls just danced with me (_redsatinpanties_) and we talked and laughed (_red_) like nothing ever happened (s_atin_) and he invited me back to his room (_panties_)!

The memory replayed again in my head. I had hurled the evidence at him. He'd flinched. He had actually flinched, like I'd thrown a knife instead of a damned thong!

I stood and looked at my reflection. Ten years hadn't changed me much. Older? Of course. But wiser? Definitely not. But, was I more mature? Maybe. More rational? Infinitely so.

Did I want him?

That was the million dollar question. And if, yes, how much? Was it forever and ever, amen Want or sleazy bangin' on the bathroom door Want? How much of my own question had I answered by asking further questions?

I steadied myself and pushed out of the bathroom. I spotted Nick at the bar and tried to duck out of sight, but I was unsuccessful.

"Veronica! I thought I'd lost you!" he called after me. I stopped and faced him. He was beaming at me. He was so cute and so much easier. But Logan crashed around in my brain.

"Nope, I'm right here," I replied, brightly. I was pleased my voice obeyed. But any joyful noise I was about to make was stomped down as a voice came from behind me.

"Who's the suit?"

**XxXxXxX**

**A/N: I also don't own "Fly Me to the Moon," "Songbird," and still don't own CNN. Also, I won't get to post the final chapter before tonight's show because I have to work late (I'll actually be watching the show via my ancient VCR grumble). But, if you're all good little reviewers, I'll post it when I get home before I watch the show. Is that a nice compromise, or what?  
**To my anonymous reviewer, **rainey**: I know... but, you know Veronica. Always saying things to keep herself behind that little wall. Plus, I had a fun time imagining Logan's face when she said it (but, I couldn't describe it because V didn't hang around long enough to notice sigh).

**Love it? Hate it? Review it!**


	7. Like Sand Sticking to My Wineglass

**Disclaimer: I wished on a lucky penny, a rainbow, _and _a cross-eyed, one-footed rabbit, but I still don't own _Veronica Mars._  
Chapter 7/7  
A/N 1: Yes, this is it, but it's almost twice as long as the previous chapters because there were no natural breaks. So be of good cheer. Oh... and for anyone skittish out there, this gets a little bit 'M' toward the end. (Was that a 'squee' I just heard?)**

**XxXxXxX**

Like Sand Sticking to My Wineglass, These are The Days of Our Lives

I whirled. Logan stood there, holding two glasses of white wine. I hoped it was pinot grigio. I immediately felt guilty for hoping for anything associated with Logan. Like I was betraying myself.

"I'm wearing a tuxedo," Nick answered flatly, when I failed to make the introductions.

"I can still tell you're a suit."

The lawyer didn't bother hiding his annoyance. "Nick Castle. And you are?"

"Logan Echolls. Veronica?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we talk?"

"Sure we can. We're doing it right now. Like pros," I evaded. I looked at Logan on my left. He was serious and demanding. I looked at Nick on my right. He was smiling and ready to have fun. Or, at least, that's how I broke it down.

"Nick, I... I need to talk to Logan. Can I catch up with you later?" Later sounded far away and noncommittal to me. I hoped it didn't sound that way to him.

He nodded, his smile slipping slightly, but holding on bravely. "Sure. All you have to do is whistle. You know how to whistle, don't you?"

"Just put your lips together and... blow," I answered with a smile.

I don't know what was wrong with me that I let the easy choice go. He had quoted one of my favorite movies, for crying out loud.

I turned and faced Logan. He placed the glass of wine in my hand. I sipped it and smiled. "Kris pinot grigio delle Venezie," I said. Very good. And very expensive.

"If you say so. I bought a whole bottle. It's behind the bar."

"Bought, huh? Well, that_ is_ classy."

He lowered his eyes briefly before nodding toward the empty dining room down the hall. It was getting close to midnight and I had battled every sort of emotion for eight hours now. I was glad to sit somewhere quiet for a minute. Even if it meant having a talk with the man who'd cheated on me and broke my heart.

We went into the quiet room, lit only by the moon pouring through high windows overlooking the empty beach to the south and the light of the hall.

"Veronica," he began, swirling his glass of wine speculatively, "What happened out on the deck, I'm sorry. It's just that when I'm around you, no matter how long it's been, I obviously slip back into old habits."

"So you're saying the invitation was a mistake?" I asked. I half-hoped he'd just say yes so I could go back to my easy lawyer. But, it was only a half-hope.

He looked at me squarely. "No. It wasn't. Ever since I saw you in the church, touched you, every old feeling, every memory of you, every want, desire, and need came flooding back." He gave a course laugh. "I became a shrink so I wouldn't have to analyze myself any more. 'Those who can't do, teach' and all that happy horse shit. You can see that's working out really well."

I matched his laugh with one of equal measure. "I'd be lying if I didn't say that you incited some feelings in me. When you said I looked 'well' back in the church, I wanted to bash your brains in with one of those swinging incense holders."

He chuckled. "I guess that's a good sign. And now?"

"Oh no you don't, doc. No head shrinking here."

"Got ya."

We sat silently for a moment, sipping the wine. It was a beautiful shade of pale yellow-green in the dark.

"That day at the Grand," I started. I waited for him to mentally catch up. I knew he'd know exactly what day I meant. "I didn't listen to you."

He twitched a shoulder in response. "Honestly, I probably would have reacted the same way."

"But you might have listened. I didn't even hear what you said. I just stared at that damn scrap of satin and planned my escape."

He shook his head to indicate that he didn't agree. "Be serious, Veronica. I was rarely a sit down and listen type of guy."

"And now you do it for money?"

"For fame, really. I still have money."

"Fame?" I asked, doubtfully.

"No. Not that either."

"Then what?"

"Now, now, Detective, no snooping."

"I'm a lawyer."

"You might _also _be a lawyer, but you never stopped being a detective."

"Touché."

We stared across the table at one another. The tension was palpable, but it wasn't threatening to crush me the way it probably should have. I invited it. It felt better.

"So, what did you try to tell me that day?" I challenged.

"That I'd never once touched another girl since I'd been with you."

"Where did the panties come from?"

"I like the way you say that word."

"Panties or come?" I shot back.

He stared at me, wide-eyed and obviously surprised.

"Answer the question, Logan," I demanded.

"Well, I moved into Duncan's room since it was the larger of the two after he fled the country. I assume they were his."

I arched an eyebrow. "You think Duncan cross-dressed?" I asked, struck dumb.

He shook his head with a mild laugh before clarifying. "No, I think they were Kendall's."

My eyes widened. "Kendall Casablancas?" I asked. I hadn't thought of that skank since my dad told me he felt responsible for her murder.

Logan nodded. His eyes met mine. "I know she went to him after I refused to open my bank account as her personal buffet of dead presidents."

"And, you know this how?"

"Because I was watching television when she sauntered out of his room a half-hour later. And, Kendall might have been a lot of things, but she was not a conversationalist."

Veronica nodded, this new information settling in, padding her Duncan file. She didn't know if was true, but what reason would Logan have to lie now? Other than to sleep with her, of course.

"Why should I believe you?" I asked. I watched the old hurt flash across his eyes. No one had ever made him look that way as far as I know, save for Lilly, his mother, and me. And I was the only one left. Guilt burned into the pit of my stomach.

"Because it's the truth," he replied quietly.

I nodded. "Okay."

"Okay?" he asked, surprised again.

"I believe you. I should have listened then."

We sat in silence, carefully not looking at one another.

He stood, suddenly. "We're out of wine." He reached down to take my glass the moment I grasped it. His hand brushed mine and he pulled away quickly.

I looked up at him. He looked the same as he had the day I'd walked out of the suite. He never chased me, never tried to clarify. I guess he knew I wouldn't believe him.

"Logan," I started.

He bent down and stayed my lips with his own. I was shocked, but I had been silently expecting it. I stood, not breaking the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck.

He was just how I'd remembered him. His kiss was the one I imagined when I was with some new guy who tried to be smooth but always ended up muffing it somewhere on the way to third base. His hands on my waist... my back... Oh God, my breasts... in my hair... they were the hands I imagined when I was alone. I whimpered against him and he crushed me closer, pinning my legs against the low chair. I had no where to run. I didn't want to.

He turned me and sat down hard in the chair I'd just vacated. He pulled me down into his lap. I was twisted to the side, still kissing him as though I was afraid that stopping might make him disappear. I felt every hard plane of his body along my right side and he just clutched me close, equally desperate, equally hungry.

Before I knew what I was doing, I stood before him and glanced around. I took his hand and pulled him farther into the dark room and through a door into the kitchen. There were a few of the catering staff still there, talking, laughing, playing music and finishing off a bottle of expensive champagne. They stared at us as we passed. I laughed and Logan laughed and we raced through the kitchens and out the service door, past more of the staff standing around smoking.

I held his hand as we ran all the way to the empty beach. We ran so far that we couldn't even hear the music from the wedding anymore. We were out of breath when he tumbled me down against the wet sand and kissed me again. His mouth danced along mine and down along my jawline to my throat. He dropped kisses on the hollow behind my ear and down along the seam of my dress over the tops of my breasts. I just sighed and took in the texture of his hair, the day's stubble along his jaw, the scent that was identifiable as purely _him_.

He sat up above me on his knees and I sat up to lay my hand on his chest. I plucked the buttons of his shirt loose, smiling lazily up at him. He untied the bow tie and cast it to the side, matching my smile. We were in a hurry, but wanted to take forever.

I freed him of his dress shirt and he shrugged out of it. I slid my hands under his white tee shirt and watched them travel beneath the cotton. He sucked in his breath and stayed my wrists. "Veronica," he warned with a shaky breath.

I grinned and lifted the shirt up, baring his flat stomach and toned chest. I bit my lip as he finished the job and cast the shirt in the direction of the pounding waves. I sat up on my knees and faced him, kissing along his throat as he let his head fall to one side. I felt another warning issue from his throat, this one didn't even form a coherent word. I kissed his shoulders and let my fingernails scrape lightly over his bare back, loving the way his skin dimpled from the friction.

He grasped me by my waist and held me away from him. He searched my eyes and growled, "You're killing me."

I laughed and silenced him with another kiss. Sand tickled me where it ran down my back. He reached up and unhooked the neck of my dress as I unbuttoned his tuxedo pants. He groaned as my dress fell away, or maybe he groaned because I'd scraped my knuckles along his belly.

He held me back and laid me gently on the sand as he slid the dress down. He kissed each new bit of skin that he revealed, causing my own skin to dimple. I tossed against the sand, and gasped his name. He grinned back up at me. He hitched the dress down over my hips and studied me, naked save for a scrap of red satin keeping him from me.

He laid his hand on my chest and ducked his head to kiss my mouth. He kissed me so fondly, I thought I might cry. I didn't hate myself for it. His hands did the rest of the job while his lips held my attention. He slid the panties down over my thighs, my knees and tossed them the way of the rest of the garments. I was bare before him. I smiled against his mouth. He responded in kind.

My mouth went dry when he touched me. I arched immediately against his hand, wet and out of control. Minutes later, I cried his name aloud and he kissed me quiet. I don't know when he took his pants off, but the next thing I knew, he was between my legs and I was ready again.

I looked at him. He matched my gaze.

"It's always been you," I confessed breathlessly.

"Veronica," he said, his voice trembling.

I pulled myself closer, feeling every grain of sand beneath me, feeling him between my legs. With one thrust, he filled me. I trembled and he leaned down and held me with one arm, supporting his weight with one elbow in the soft sand.

I wrapped my legs around him, my hands curled around his shoulder and neck, clinging and arching and matching his thrusts with intensity I didn't know I possessed.

He devoured my mouth with his, taking greedy kisses and giving back my name, over and over, repeated like a prayer tripping from his sinner's lips. And finally, with the waves crashing behind us, I bit his shoulder to keep from screaming. I felt myself clench and pulse against him, every molecule of my body aware of him. And he buried his head in my neck and let go.

We lay there, covered in sweat and sand and tears, clutching one another tightly. He shifted his weight and lay facing me. I rolled onto my side, twining my short legs with his longer ones. I was suddenly cold without him on top of me. He saw my shiver, or felt it, and pulled me close.

"You probably know this already," he said against my ear. I felt his stubble on my cheek, all at once abrasive and welcome. "But, I love you."

I tucked my head against his shoulder and bit my lip. "Forever and ever, amen," I replied quietly.

"What?" he asked, softly.

"I love you, too."

0o0o0o0

Epilogue

"Mom! The oven isn't working," my fifteen year old daughter, Sam, yelled.

"I know, hon. I told you yesterday. We're getting a new one today," I came back. I stood in my old kitchen with its scuffed hardwood floors and the detritus of everyday life cluttering the island, carrying a basket of freshly folded laundry. "And you don't have to shout," I added sweetly.

My son, ten year old Jack, came to a screeching halt just inches short of the worn granite counter top. I plopped the basket into his hands and he fixed me with an irritated scowl. He looked so like his father when he tried to stare me down. I laughed.

"And, Jackie, quit rolling your socks up into little balls when you put them in the laundry. The stench is killing the plants in the cellar."

He quirked a smile at me. Stinky feet still made him laugh.

"Ew, mom, you're gross," Sam informed me. She was obviously beyond that stage in my comedic repertoire. I wiggled my eyebrows at her and she rolled her eyes.

"Yeah, she is kinda gross, isn't she?" my husband greeted me as he came in through the kitchen door. He dropped a kiss on my lips before looking at Sam. "She even smells kind of gross."

"You two _are_ gross," Sam added with a sophisticated sniff.

"Well, I was made for lovin' you, baby, and you were made for lovin' me," Logan sang, kissing me again.

"Ewwww!" Sam complained as she left the room. I heard her stomp up the steps.

"Oh, good, we got rid of her. Where's Jack?" he asked, his eyebrows raised.

I pulled him down for another kiss. "Laundry."

He kissed me again and pushed me gently against the scuffed counter. "I don't have the video conference with Quantico until seven," he murmured, dropping light kisses along my jaw. When he finally pulled away, he had a decidedly mischievous glint in his eye. "Bedroom?" he asked.

"I have good news," I said.

"That can be discussed in bed," he asserted, leading me toward the stairs.

"We're officially homeowners."

He looked back at me and I produced the deed to our home in Kersey, Colorado from my back pocket. It had only taken us seventeen years of doubled mortgage payments, but we owned it. And without using his mother's money. We saved that for our kids.

"Then we should celebrate. And, honey, I love when you produce legal documents from thin air. Very hot," he teased.

And celebrate we did.

**XxXxXxX**

The End

**A/N 2: I also don't own _To Have and Have Not_, Kris wines, Randy Travis' "Forever and Ever Amen," Shaggy's "It Wasn't Me," or "I Was Made For Lovin' You" by KISS.**

To my anonymous reviewers: **Kattee**: Thanks. I hope you LoVe-d the ending ;)  
**nikola**:bows: Thanks much! I do try. Hope I didn't let you down with the end.  
**Sarah: **Keith is so adorable. If only I lived in Neptune and were, like, ten years older...  
**Kate**: I don't know if it's still screaming sequel, but feel free to tell me if it is and why. I'd love a prompt / challenge!  
**rainey**: I know... Logan with a badge, busting the really bad guys (even if it is only with his sexy brain). Something so very hot about it all. Maybe that should be a sequel (prequel)? And, I loved your little thought process about the LoVe... very adorable!  
**Rookie**: Thanks bunches. I hope I didn't stab anyone in the foot with my sword play in the ending! ;)

And, a million thanks to **jacedes** because that reviewer pointed out my "How Many Stories Make Up the Neptune Grand" muff-up. Thee are only 12... not 48. Still, it all turns out icky in the end for Cassidy!

Also, I am indebted to all of my reviewers for making me glad every time I posted. You are the ones who made me post so quickly, so thanks!!

**Did you love it? Hate it? Well, it's over now and I'd LOVE a review!**

**  
Your Faithful Scribe,  
Sparrow**


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